Wrong.
The girl was as annoying as a Chihuahua all hopped up 'cause there's a knock at the door. The texting and come-hithers in text code were nonstop.
And now, as I stared out into the dark rain to see a POS car sideways in the road, I knew the world hated me, had to, because someone had just smashed her car into my truck.
I got out and braced myself. It wasn't easy to pay cash for new cars every time I needed to skip town. It was hard living when you couldn't be who you really were. Finding people to pay you under the table was almost impossible these days.
I groaned and glared at the beauty standing at the end of my truck. "Look at that!"
"I'm so sorry," she began. I could tell she really was, but I was beyond pissed. "I'll call my insurance company right now."
That stopped me. "No!" I shouted and she jolted at the verbal assault. "No insurance."
"Well," she pondered, "what do you mean? I have good insurance."
"But I don't."
She turned her head a bit in thought and then her mouth fell open as she realized what I was saying. "You don’t have any insurance, do you?"
"No," I answered. "Look. Whatever, we'll just call this even-steven, because you did hit me."
"Even-steven my butt!" she yelled and scurried to jump in front of me, blocking my way.
"And what a cute butt it is."
Even through the noise of water hitting metal, I heard her intake of breath. The rain pelted us in the dark. I hoped no one came around the corner. It would be hard for them to see us here in the middle of the road. She might get hurt. Then I wondered why I cared.
"Look, buddy," she replied and crossed her arms. It drew my eyes to her shirt. My eyes bulged 'cause that shirt…well, it was see-through now. She caught on and jerked her crossed arms higher. "How dare you! You're on a roll in the jerkface department, you know that!"
"My specialty," I said and saluted as I climbed in my truck. "Get your pretty butt in your car and let's pretend this never happened, shall we?"
Because if cops and insurance were brought into this, I'd be on the run sooner than I thought.
She huffed. "Excuse me-"
"Darlin'. Car. Now." She glared. "Like right now."
She threw her hands up in the air and yelled, "I knew chivalry was dead!" before climbing in her car and driving away. She didn't know it, but I was being as chivalrous as they come. I made sure she got out of the rain and back into her car, even though she didn't like the way I did it, and I got her as far away from me as I could.
In my book, I deserved a freaking medal for being so chivalrous. Because people that stuck with me didn't live long.
Just ask my mom.
Oh, wait, you can't. She died long, long years ago saving my life. I refused to bring anyone onto this sinking ship with me. If it finally did go down, I was going down alone.
Publication Coming 2013
Now, enjoy an excerpt from Rachel Higginson's new novel,
The Rush.
“Ah, Ms. Pierce, I wish I could say I was happy to see you,” Mrs. Tanner, the evil witch of a secretary, acknowledged me with a smug smirk that seemed to confirm the fact that yes, in case you were wondering, high school is the ninth ring of hell.
“Oh, Mrs. Tanner, I wish I could say the same thing,” I replied as sweetly as I could. I met her halfway with a long counter in between us.
She was not amused with me.
“You can’t miss anymore school Ivy,” Mrs. Tanner warned and I realized it was practically painful for her to give me advice to heed. This must be coming from the principal, the male principal Mr. Costas. “At least not this semester, unless you have a written note from your doctor. Mr. Costas would like to remind you that you are going to have to work hard enough to catch up this late in the quarter and that skipping, ditching or taking unnecessary sick days will not benefit you toward your goal of graduation.”
“Tell Mr. Costas, I appreciate that he’s looking out for me,” I answered in that same sickly sweet voice I used to annoy the hell out of her.
She ignored me. “Here is your class schedule.”
“Thank you.” I snatched it from her hand and turned on my heel before she offered anymore unsolicited advice.
“The faculty of this school would also like to ask that you not send any more of its students to the hospital,” she called out snidely to my back.
I tensed immediately, my back ramrod straight and my nerves shot to sudden hell. “I’ll do my best,” I ground out and picked up pace.
I just needed to get to the glass door, push it open and get to class.
Fifteen more seconds.
“If you have any extra cash on you, that canister by the door is for Sam’s recovery fund,” she finished on a high note.
I couldn’t help myself. I should have just bolted; and not just from the office, from school, from Omaha, from America…. I should have just gone.
But instead of listening to the sound voice of reason my inner conscience was screaming at me, I let the rotting guilt spread its ugly, vicious wings and glanced down at the canister. There he was. Sam. Smiling and happy in his senior picture that was not at all indicative of what he looked like now…..
The canister was covered with construction paper asking for donations to help with his physical therapy and explaining that he used to be a senior at this school, that he used to be a basketball star, and that he used to be able to walk…. The same life he never got the chance to live before a car accident changed his world forever. The plastic cover had a slit cut out of the top so you could drop money into it, long enough for coins and wide enough for folded up dollar bills.
I couldn’t do this.
I didn’t want to do this.
I felt my breakfast lurch in my very upset stomach. I lunged for the office door knowing even a second more spent trapped in the same room as that canister was going to send me into another breakdown.
Only this time there would be serious consequences to pay.
I threw the door open without seeing. I mean literally I couldn’t see anything. My mind had slipped into the horrific memories of the past and I was pretty sure I could make a solid plea for temporary insanity at this point.
So when I shoved the door with as much force as I was capable of and met shouting resistance and then found myself tripping, toppling over something on the floor, I was completely taken off guard. The situation was made worse when in the middle of my fall I was drenched with severely hot liquid and landed painfully on my back, soaking wet.
I lay there for several moments sprawled out awkwardly on the hard tile before the clearest, deepest gray eyes I had ever seen hovered over me. His thick brow line and hard edges to his tanned face prove he was male, definitely male. Our gazes locked together and I felt uncomfortably immobilized as the liquid I could now identify as coffee started to cool on my shirt and against my skin.
And then those eyes narrowed on me. My eyes flickered to a face that was completely unreadable, in that I couldn’t identify his expression except that it wasn’t good. Like…. he was mad at me. Like, he was pissed at me.
“Let me up,” I growled, confused by his less than stellar reaction.
“Excuse me?” he asked politely, schooling his expression and realistically sounding polite, like he hadn’t heard me correctly.
“Let me up,” I slowed my speech down, thinking he just hadn’t heard me, probably because he was so disconcerted from staring into my eyes.
I’m not being stuck up here. That’s just usually what happened. I was speaking from experience.
“No problem.” He scooted back from me and I scrambled to my feet. He joined me seconds later with two empty coffee cups in his hand.
We both side stepped the spilled coffee puddled in the hallway and I thought for a second that I heard him huff an impatient sigh, but I knew that had to be wrong.
The halls were empty now, and we were left to stare each other down in front of the office. I
prayed Mrs. Tanner had gone back to hiding in her hole of a break room; otherwise I needed to be concerned with her swooping down at any moment to haul my ass to the principal’s office. If I was lucky she would demand a detention, but more than likely she would be petitioning for a suspension. She would use this or any other thing she could find against me.
Like I assaulted gray eyes with his hot coffee in an attempt to end any promising future he might have. Like this would be related in some way to Sam.
Realizing that could be the case, I looked down at my shirt hoping to have evidence that I was actually the one assaulted. And then hope turned to irritation when I noticed that it was completely ruined, and uncomfortably sticky and cold. Not that it was a designer shirt…. but the tight fitting, scoop neck black long-sleeved tee looked great with my gray bubble skirt and knee high charcoal boots. And the only extra piece of clothing I even had with me was my favorite hoodie that I wasn’t supposed to wear.
“What am I going to do now?” I bit out, while mystery man watched me from a few feet away.
“Excuse me?” he asked politely again, only this time I heard the faint tones of aggression and confusion.
Not possible.
“You spilled coffee all over me; I don’t have a change of clothes, what am I supposed to do for the rest of the day?” I asked not at all politely.
“I spilled coffee on you?” he asked slowly, his patience growing thin.
I stopped then, in that moment and lifted my eyes to meet his again. He wasn’t looking at me though, his arms were crossed and he was looking around the hallway as if he couldn’t actually believe what was happening and he needed someone else to clue him in. I took his distracted second to look him over.
He was all bad boy with thick layered dark brown hair that was clearly not styled and left messy and sexy from sleep. He had the thick kind of eye lashes that made most girls go crazy, with tanned skin completely in contrast to his silver gray eyes. His gray t-shirt that was just a little too tight, stretched over his biceps deliciously. His low slung jeans completed what might as well have been the uniform for all things wicked.
“Are you seriously going to blame me?” he asked in disbelief, drawing my attention away from the hollow of his throat.
“You spilled coffee on me,” I pointed out, pulling my shirt away from my skin mostly because it was so uncomfortable but also and a bit calculatingly because I knew it would expose my stomach and I was dying to see his reaction to a little skin.
“You came flying out of the office like a bat out of hell and ran into me,” he laughed unbelievably. And not once did his eyes fall to my exposed skin.
“Listen, I don’t have time for this, I’m already late for class,” I ignored his potentially valid point and waited for the part where he would shake off his disbelief and ask for my number.
“You’re seriously unbelievable,” he continued to sound irritated with me and honestly it was a little disconcerting.
“Me?” I gasped. “You’re unbelievable!”
Only I really meant that. Something was wrong. Like maybe I was broken.
Maybe I was broken….?
I had to test this theory, which meant swallowing all of my pride. My entire life thus far had conditioned me to think that nothing was ever my fault and there was always someone else to blame. Usually a man. An apology would take some effort on my part.
“You are one snide little-“
“Wait a second, before you start calling names,” I interrupted him, holding my hand up before he could get any naughty words out of that beautiful mouth of his. “You caught me way off guard. I may have been a little defensive,” I relented, not feeling a single word I was saying, but knowing if I wanted to get to the bottom of this I would have to play his game.
“You are apologizing for being defensive?” he clarified, not looking at all pacified.
What the hell?
“Yes, um, that and for running into you,” I mumbled in a rush.
“What was that?” he stepped forward, tightening the arms that were folded across his chest. I knew he heard me…. cocky bastard.
“I apologize for running into you, I was in a hurry,” I offered magnanimously.
“Obviously,” he narrowed his eyes on me again and rocked back on his heels. “It’s fine, I mean, you took most of the hit anyway.” He nodded to my stained shirt and that’s when I realized he was completely dry except for the hem of his t-shirt.
I hesitated for a long moment, feeling irrationally vulnerable under his scrutiny. Which wasn’t fair, because I was usually the one getting to do the scrutinizing. He looked me over for all of three more seconds before seeming to come to an indifferent conclusion.
Which, let’s be honest, confused the hell out of me.
“I can write you a pass,” he offered out of the blue. This was it! This was him showing his true colors! But his tone of voice was not anything like the doting, fawning boys I was used to.
“You can?” I squeaked while still feeling exposed for some strange reason.
“I’m the office aide this hour, which is why I had coffee in the first place,” he motioned to the still wet ground.
“Oh.”
“What’s your name?” he asked as if he didn’t know.
“Really?” I laughed.
His expression turned confused. “I can’t write you a pass without it.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t tell if he really didn’t know my name or not. He looked confused, but really I was the one that was so confused I couldn’t even make a sentence.
“Uh, your name?” he asked impatiently.
“Ivy Pierce,” I struggled for confidence. Who was this guy?
“Come on Ivy, what class are you going to?” He motioned toward the office, but there was absolutely no way I was going back in there. Not to mention, the minute Mrs. Tanner figured out he was trying to help me out, she wouldn’t let him go through with it. And for some unexplainable reason I didn’t want to get in it with her in front of him.
Whoever he was.
“Um, I have,” I gave my schedule a quick glance before answering, “Mr. Taylor for creative writing.” He motioned me to follow him so I had to call after him before the door swung shut, “I’ll just wait out here.”
He nodded his head without turning around to acknowledge me. Huh. He jumped up, so he could reach over the chest high partition and grabbed the yellow late slips before settling back down to the floor and filling it out. I watched him through the glass in kind of a state of disbelief. He hadn’t looked back at me, not even once.
Obviously my self-confidence was used to more petting, but I had legitimate reasons to have always thought of myself as desired. I was desired- always. And it wasn’t something I liked or ever hardly tolerated, but still it was the truth. The male species as a whole couldn’t resist me and suddenly I smashed into someone I didn’t know, get splattered with hot coffee and my mojo was gone?
“Ivy Pierce?” a girl’s voice made me turn my head away from watching the mysterious office aide.
I turned to meet Kenna Lee as she approached the office. I forced a smile that I didn’t really mean and realized how hard it was to keep my focus on her. She was nice enough, or as nice as a girl could be around me and we had known each forever, but as far as friends went…. she didn’t like me. At all.
And I didn’t blame her.
Plus it was hard to keep my eyes off the office aide writing me a pass. What if he turned to check me out and I missed it? Or even better, what if he never turned to check me out?
Kenna’s smile seemed halfway genuine though so I had to wonder if girls would also be affected by my loss of mojo. Maybe I would start making friends.
“When did you get back?” she asked. She was one of the more attractive girls in our junior class. Her dad was Japanese and her mom was Italian American so she had the good fortune of beautifully mixed genes with long, silky straight black hair, and pretty tilted eyes that were a shocking sh
ade of green.
“Today is my first day,” I answered, wondering what to make of her friendliness.
“Good luck,” she smiled knowingly, but friendly enough.
“Uh, thanks,” I mumbled while she left me in the hallway and entered the office.
Office Boy turned at the sound of the door bells tinkling and his gray eyes lit up as soon as they landed on Kenna. He stopped writing my pass to pull her into his arms and smother her in a kiss. She threw her head back in laughter and he went for her neck playfully.
It was kind of gross, in that sickeningly gross happy couple way that makes everyone around want to vomit. Really blissful couples always made me uncomfortable anyway and I felt the need to avert my eyes.
The office door opened again and a tan, long-fingered hand was thrust through the space. I followed the sinewy muscles up to a perfectly toned bicep along his shoulder, collar bone, throat and up to those clear gunmetal eyes staring at me with nothing more than complete disinterest.
“Sorry again about the coffee,” I apologized more sincerely for that spill than I had anything else in my entire life.
Ok. Almost anything else.
With one giant exception.
“No worries,” he replied without even a smile before the door was shut on me and he, whoever he was, went back to flirting with Kenna in the office.
That was honestly a first for me.
End of Preview
You can find information on Rachel's books at her website
http://www.rachelhigginson.blogspot.com/
Now enjoy an excerpt from H.M. Ward's YA novel, Collide.